


413 Jump Street

by egberts



Category: Homestuck
Genre: 21 jump street - Freeform, Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-21
Updated: 2014-06-21
Packaged: 2018-02-05 15:40:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1823635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/egberts/pseuds/egberts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You and John could easily be described as literally the <i>worst cops ever.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	413 Jump Street

**Author's Note:**

> yo, okay so, if you've seen "21 jump street" you know the basic idea of this story, if you haven't then basically its young cops that go undercover in high school. i obviously couldn't borrow all the ideas from the movie - just the basic ones. the crime being committed and stuff is different in this - be warned i suck at planning crimes. but mostly i wrote this entire fic based on the scene where they kiss in the janitor's closet. i wrote that first and built the rest around it, i'm not kidding.  
> also, there is a pretty good amount of swearing in this fic, more than i normally write with. so fair warning there in case you're not too fond of cussing!! and while i'm warning you, there is **slight alcohol usage and some mild violence towards the end.**  
>  i considered making this a multichapter fic, so i could work on character developement and details better, but instead i just shoehorned it all into a oneshot  
> you should just turn back now this is _really_ stupid.

When you joined the force you expected to be one bad-ass motherfucker. You were gonna get all the honies and kick some ass along the way. Unfortunately, your incredibly unrealistic dreams were crushed by reality.

“ _Undercover?”_ You protest. “Why the hell do I have to go undercover with _him?_ ” You gesture in the direction of the black-haired officer next to you.

“You look young.” Your superior says, shrugging. “There’s been some pretty heavy illegal activity inside Maplehoof High. You guys need to stop it.”

“And how are we supposed to do that?” The officer next to you speaks up.

“Pretend to be high schoolers.” Your superior smirks.

You slam your hand on the desk. “No! Fuck no, fuck that.”

“Are you refusing an _order_ , Strider?”

“Fuck you, Bro.” You give him the finger and turn to walk out.

“David,” He begins calmly. “If you don’t do this you’re off the force.” You halt and grit your teeth, turning to him with probably the most annoyed expression you’d ever allow yourself to make. “Glad to see you’re on board.”

“You are literally the worst fucking brother ever.” You groan.

“Love you too, babe.” He smirks, then redirects his attention to your new partner, “So, what about you Egbert? You onboard?”

He gives a sort of shrug, “Sure.”

You let out a groan and slam yourself back down in your chair. “Alright, what the fuck do we do?”

“Well, firstly, since you’ll be in high school, you can’t live on your own.” His smirk broadens.

“Oh come on, Bro, don’t.” You put the palm of your hands over your face and groan _again_. This is the worst day of your entire life.

“Welcome home, Davey.” The black haired officer – Egbert – snickers a little. Your Bro turns to him, still wearing the same shit eating grin he gave you. “I don’t know what’s so funny, John, you’ll be going home too.”

You peek at him from behind your hand-barrier, he just shrugs again. “Sweet, I love my dad.” God, you got stuck with the biggest fucking dork on the entire Earth.

You literally wanted no part in this mission whatsoever. The only reason you got stuck with it in the first place was because you accidentally slipped up and forgot to read a perp his Miranda rights – and because your brother was a bag of dicks. Also because, apparently, at your age you still looked like you could pass for eighteen. What a way to add insult to injury, you’re fucking twenty-four. This is literally the biggest load of bullshit in the world.

John, you learned was your new partner’s name, and you were set up to both be new students, instructed to ‘become friends’ (yeah right) as soon as you could, so that it would look less suspicious when you interacted. You were pretty sure that two new students showing up on the same day and immediately becoming friends would look pretty fucking suspicious. Especially considering you both probably did not look eighteen. So not only would this mission fail horribly, it was incredibly stupid and useless and _ugh._

**\------------**

You slid into the passenger seat of your brother’s car; he was still wearing the same sickening smirk he wore when he assigned you to this mission. “What’s wrong, Davey?” He put it in gear and made for the school. “Scared to start your first day at a new school?”

“Fuck off.” You roll your eyes. You were sitting in your seat with your arms folded over your chest – probably pouting more than you intended. Well, at least you got the moody teenager part down.

“Language, David. You wouldn’t want to offend the ears of any of your new teachers.” He hums. “Remember if you get expelled you’re _fired_.”

“I can’t believe you.” You grumble. “Threatening to fire your own damn brother.”

“Business is business.” He shrugs. “You’ll learn that someday. Losing you would be making a sacrifice for the greater good.”

You roll your eyes, Bro can’t see because you refuse to take off your glasses, even for high school. You had them draw you up a mock medical note, something about a problem with light. In truth, your eyes were fine, just weird. Your Bro, evil as he was, could relate.

Speaking of your Bro, he pulls the car up to the curb of the school, you’re disgusted by the sight of teenagers – not because you don’t like teenagers, no, because you’re being forced to interact with them for the next three months. (Hopefully not that long, if time was on your side you’d catch the evil-doers and be out of there within a week.) You shudder and he raises an eyebrow at you. “Youths.” You hiss. He chuckles a little and tells you to get the fuck out of his car. He rolls down the window and makes kissy noises and you walk up to the building. You flip him off over your shoulder. When you hear the car drive away you shove your hands in your pockets and keep walking. Time for the classic I-don’t-give-a-shit Strider attitude.

Actually, it’s a little hard to not-give-a-shit, when you hear the rumble of a loud engine roll up behind you. You turn and see a navy blue ’57 Chevy Impala with a cherry bomb exhaust. Not very shocking, yet, but your mouth falls open when you see who’s driving it. You stare in disbelief and kind of accidentally breathe out “Egbert…” In awe.

You blink yourself out of your daze and half jog up to him as he’s getting out of the car. He looks dorky as fuck – and holy shit is he wearing _braces?_ You stifle a laugh and play it cool; you’re not supposed to know each other. He raises an eyebrow at you and you raise a hand to wave. “Hey, woah dude, that is one sweet ride.” You want to puke right now, you’re not gonna lie. Why did Egbert get a sweet car and you have to be dropped off by Bro? What the actual fuck.

“Oh, uh thanks!” He grins. Oh Jesus Christ, he was so fucking goofy looking. His hair was all over the place and he did in fact have braces on. You kind of absentmindedly bring your index finger up to your mouth and point at your teeth, mouthing the words ‘what the fuck’. He gives you a sour expression and slams the car door. He’s walking away before you can fully process that, hey, he actually fucking looks like a high school kid.

You run after him to catch up, “Hey hey, woah wait, dude.” He looks at you from over his shoulder. “I’m uh, shit, I’m Dave.”

“And?” He raises an eyebrow. Okay, wow he’s a dick.

“Oh uh, nothing just, I’m new and you’ve got like the coolest fucking car, we should hang.” You awkwardly rub the back of your neck, he walks fast and you’re trying to keep up. How do his short little legs carry him at such speeds?

“That’s weird.” He says. That’s it, that’s all he says.

“Huh?” God this guy was hard as shit to talk to; you’re starting to wonder why _he_ got put on this assignment?

“It’s weird that you’re new.” He shrugs and pulls open the front door to the school, holding it barely long enough for you to slip inside with him.

“How?” You know how, but you’ve got to keep up appearances.

“I’m new, too.” He doesn’t even look at you when he talks, just keeps his eyes forward, determined to look nonchalant. He’s good. Too good. You’ve got to step up your game, you’re not about to let Egbert McBrace-face be cooler than you.

“So where are you headed?” He’s finally slowed down and you can match his pace.

“The office. In case you somehow forgot in the two seconds it took you to ask that, I’m a new student. Gotta get a schedule and stuff, y’know?” Oh fuck right.

“Oh right, yeah. Gotcha, well I’m headed there too, we should go together.” He shrugs. You tag along and don’t say much else, this was really awkward and you’re pretty sure at least twenty teenagers stared at you the entire way there.

John’s the first to talk to the secretary, “John Crocker, new student.” she nods and directs him to the principal’s office. The mention of his false last name reminds you to use yours; it would’ve been awkward as fuck to use the wrong last name.

You step up to the desk behind him and clear your throat. The secretary looks up at you, “Dave Lalonde?” She hums. You nod. John and you weren’t very creative when it came to fake names; that’s for damn sure. Apparently Crocker is just John’s big sister’s last name, and for you, Lalonde is your aunt and cousin in New York. The secretary points you towards the principal’s office too. You stride back and take up seat next to John in one of those God-awful waiting chairs with no arms or anything.

He doesn’t even acknowledge you showed up. Ugh, this guy was a prick. You lean over and whisper to him. “So, what’s with the metal mouth?” He rolls his eyes. You smirk a little, “Come on, Egbabe, how’d they get you to wear that?”

He turns to you and grits his teeth a bit. “How’d they get you to act like such a douche?” Ouch.

“Woah, kitty got claws.” You throw up your hands defensively. You take note of how well John seems to talk with the braces, every kid you knew in school that had to get braces always talked funny when they first got them. Maybe this wasn’t the first time he’s had them? Oh God, of course. This guy totally screams nerd, he was probably all kinds of tricked out in high school. Okay, to be fair, the condition of your teeth typically doesn’t determine if you’re a nerd or not, but John had the vibe.

“And for the record, _Lalonde_ ,” He practically hisses. The kitty metaphor is starting to look more and more accurate. “My name is Crocker.”

“Right right, sorry bro.” You grin. “Cock-rocker.” He scoffs and rolls his eyes. At least you’ve got one thing down about being a teenager – you were pretty damn great at dick jokes.

The principal, you notice when he opens the door, is ripped as fuck. Once inside his office, you also notice, this dude really likes the colour green and has shit taste in scarves. What is _with_ that tacky-as-fuck rainbow scarf by the door? Ew.

“Please, sit.” He gestures you and John to the two seats in front of his desk, a definite step up from the gaudy waiting chairs in the lobby. He folds his fingers in front of his chin and looks between the two of you. “So,” He begins, sitting back in his seat. “It’s not often we get new students, especially on the same day.” He turns his attention to John, “All AP classes, Mr. Crocker?” John nods. You were right. He is a geek. “Very good! I like to see students engaging with learning like that, good luck to you at our school!” He hands John a schedule and dismisses him. Your turn.

“Lalonde.” He hums, his eyes scanning over a sheet of paper in front of him. “Not the best record I’ve seen, but not the worst either.” His tone is a little more condescending with you than it was with John. “Will you be joining any clubs?”

You shrug, “Depends.”

“Hm, well it says here you’re fairly skilled in music, is that true?”  You nod. “Then maybe you could join band or chorus with Mr. Crocker?”

“He’s in band _and_ chorus?” You snigger.

“He’s quite gifted at the piano, according to his sheet.” Principal English frowns, probably at your immature reaction. Oh God, how are you going to handle being looked down upon by a shit ton of condescending adults? “He agreed to not only play for the band, but to accompany the chorus, as well.”

“Jesus, what a dork.” You roll your eyes.

“Funny you should say that, seeing as you’ve just bought yourself a one-way ticket to being part of the music club.” Oh fuck everything. “It would be wise to hold your tongue in my school, Lalonde.” He hands you a schedule and sends you on your way. This was going to **suck.**

**\------------**

Surprisingly, you and John fell into a groove pretty easily. Unsurprisingly, it was a little harder for you and him to become friends than it should have been. You’re a sarcastic asshole and he’s a dick. Really, you were made for each other, but you were too much alike to get along. You had two classes with him – gym and math. You weren’t very good at that many subjects, but math, damn could you do math. He sat directly in front of you in math; the available seats in the left-back corner of the room were assigned to you and him.

Currently, you were ripping the curly bits off of notebook paper and tossing them into his hair. He’d run is hand through his hair every few minutes and shake out the paper, that just encouraged you to do it more. Finally, he got sick of it and turned to you.

“Will you knock it off?” He hisses.

“What’s the magic word?” You hum innocently.

“I’m going to pull your goddamn lungs out through your nose if you don’t quit.” He could be terrifying when he wanted to be.

However, his terrifying attitude just made you want to fuck with him even more. “Me-ow.” You make a claw shape with your hand and scratch the air. He clenches his jaw and turns back around in his seat.

It’d already been more than a week since you started here, John quickly found ‘friends’, you – not so quickly. John milked his friends for information, they supplied. Oh teenagers and their willingness to spread rumors. All you and John had to do now was follow up on the leads, they were probably shit anyway. If you wanted the real juicy gossip – the teacher gossip, one of you was going to have to get in trouble.

You both agreed you were more likely to get detention than John, you thought differently though. You kept fucking with him, until finally he turned around again, this time the teacher saw.

“Mr. Crocker and Mr. Lalonde, if the conversation you are having is _so_ enticing, perhaps you’d like to finish it in detention?” She scolded. John quickly turned in his seat and began to protest. She put up her hand to him. “That’s enough, John. I’ll see you and David in detention this afternoon.” Hahahah. Fuck you mister goody-two shoes. John shot you a disgustingly evil look over his shoulder before returning his attention to the lesson. You spent the rest of that class slouched in your chair and dosing off.

All in all, going back to high school wasn’t that terrible, you weren’t as popular now as you would like to be, but you weren’t complaining. John seemed to be enjoying himself too, as much as one can enjoy them self in this kind of situation. He didn’t enjoy detention though; he was fuming when you entered the classroom. It was just him and you, and the teacher, but who cares about her.

You coolly slide into a desk near John’s and pull out your homework, luckily detention here wasn’t so much of a punishment as it was a “time to do your work and contemplate your actions.” Homework kind of sucked, you were pretty sure the material had gotten harder since you’d been in school, or maybe you just got dumber?

About ten minutes into your thirty minute sentence, the teacher’s phone goes off. She stands up from her desk and asks you and John to excuse her. You and John share suspicious looks before silently agreeing to follow her.

She rounds a few corners before entering a classroom that is _supposed_ to be off limits. That’s pretty fucking suspicious. A small glass rectangle is set into the door of the classroom; you and John take turns peeking inside. There was a man with his back turned to you and the teacher who just entered facing them. You can’t make out what they’re saying through the door, all you hear is muffled talking.

John shoves you out of his way so he can have a look. “What do you suppose they’re saying?” He turns to you, still barely peeking over the window.

“I dunno, dude, but it’s suspicious.”

“I’ll say,” He turns his attention back to the classroom, just in time to notice the female teacher spotted him. “Shit,” he backs up.

“What?” You say, shoving him out of the way. The man starts walking towards the door as you peek inside. “Fuck, he’s coming.” You say, backing up, not giving yourself enough time to get a good look at him.

“Shit,” John backs up again, bumping into you. “Fuck, what do we do?” Your eyes scan the hallway and notice a janitor’s closet just across from where the two of you sat spying.

“There.” You grab his wrist and drag him behind you; his feet make loud stomping noises as he stumbles to get his balance. “Come on!”

“Dude, what the fuck?” He practically slides in behind you and slams the door. Way to be fucking inconspicuous, Egbert. He’s breathing heavily and worry is plain on his face. “What are we gonna do, we’re gonna get busted, dude. Jesus Dave, this was a bad idea we should’ve stayed in detention, fuuuuck.”

“Jesus, John calm down, you’re gonna get us caught with your loud ass breathing, just… fuck just let me think of something.” You run a hand through your hair and assess the situation, what would two teenagers do while hiding in a janitor’s clo..set…

Oh, goddammit.

“You have to kiss me.”

“What the fuck, I’m not kissing you! I don’t know where you’ve _been_.”

“John, this is not the time for your shitty little asshole attitude towards me. You have to fucking kiss m-” The door handle to the closet turns slowly, before you can react, John grabs the front of your shirt and pulls into what could easily be described as the least sexy kiss in the entire history of the world. You quickly put your arms around him and let out a fake-as-fuck moan to throw off whoever’s opening the door.

It flies open. You and John jump and separate, fake shock on both of your faces. John uses the sleeve of his shirt to wipe his lips, damn he’s good. The person who opened the door stares between the two of you.

John’s eyes are wide and he swallows hard, feigning (you think it’s feigned anyway) embarrassment and rubbing the back of his neck. “Heyyyy, Mr. Principal English, sir.”

The principal’s eyes narrow and he clenches his teeth. “Get out of the closet, boys.”

You try not to laugh at the irony of that command. You were kissing a _dude_ in the closet… And now you have to get out of the closet. Priceless, fucking priceless.

“Sorry, dude,” You begin when you notice John is at a loss for words, “Had to get me a taste of some of this sweet Egb-Crocker ass.” You notice John’s face light up bright red at your words. Principal English is still gritting his teeth.

As inconvenient as this situation was, you were sure it couldn’t get worse. You were wrong. The teacher, the one you and John were meant to be serving detention for, came out of the classroom, carefully shutting the door behind her. She stopped when she noticed the three of you across the hall.

“Well, what on _Earth_ is going on here?” She places her hands on her hips, her high heels click as she crosses the tile floor to get closer to the three of you. “Aren’t you boys supposed to be in my classroom serving detention?”

Principal English raises an eyebrow at that, “Funny that you should wind up all the way down here then, isn’t it… Johnathan?” John noticeably gulps and you cut in again.

“We figured we wouldn’t get caught if we sneaked into a janitor’s closet.” You shrug. “We were wrong.”

English clenches his jaw and nods, “It appears you were.” He turns to the female teacher. “Double their sentence, Ms. Paint.” She nods and directs the two of you back to her classroom.

Halfway through your extended detention, you get out of your desk and walk up to Ms. Paint’s. She gives you a questioning look and you play it off like you’re going to ask her for homework help. You lean forward on her desk and smirk a little.

“So what were you an’ ol’ Principal English doing in that classroom together?” You lay on the innuendo thick enough to make her blush.

“I don’t believe it’s any of your business what teachers do in their classrooms!”

You shrug. “It just seemed a little weird, that being the _forbidden_ classroom.” A tad bit overdramatic, but you were out for info.

Ms. Paint wasn’t one to get angry, but you seemed to be pressing all the right buttons. “Please, take your seat, Mr. Lalonde, don’t make me extend your detention further!” You shrug again and stride back to your seat, John eying you the entire way.

When your sentence finally ends, you bum a ride home with John. The two of you stop off at a fast food restaurant to grab a bite before actually going home.

John is practically devouring a taco in front of you; he’s like some kind of bottomless pit. “Slow down, Egbert, you’re going to fucking choke.”

He shakes his head and swallows his mouthful, “I’ll be fine, but,” He takes another bite, chews and swallows. “What was that, earlier?”

“What?”

“You know, in detention, what did you say to piss Ms. Paint off?” He takes another bite.

“Oh,” You laugh. “I implied she was sleeping with Principal English in the empty classroom.”

He almost chokes and you laugh again. “Holy shit, Dave, you can’t do that. Number one way to draw attention to yourself!”

You shrug, “Dude, we made out in a janitor’s closet, I’m pretty sure we’ve already drawn some attention to ourselves.” His face turns red at the mention of your little episode. You smirk. “Oh, embarrassed about it now, are you? You seemed pretty enthusiastic in the closet.”

He kicks you under the table and you let out a sound of pain followed by another smirk. “Shut the fuck up, dickbrain, I did it to save our souls.”

“Yeah, from the principal, ooooo.”

“If I recall correctly, you’re the one who told me to kiss you!” He barks. The cat metaphor begins to fade.

“Yeah because I thought we were going to die!”

“From the principal?” He mocks.

“Shut up, asshole.”

“Let’s just both agree to never talk about it again.” You nod and finish your taco in silence.

                                                                  **\------------**

“Terezi, this is Dave Lalonde. Dave, this is Terezi Pyrope,” John said, not even bothering to look up from his book. “She knows how we can get information without even really trying.”

You raise an eyebrow. Terezi was average height, she had brown hair with teal dyed bangs, her ears were pierced all the way up the sides, and she was very very pretty. Your eyes go between her and John a few times before she sticks out her hand for a shake. You take the offer and shake her hand, all the while wondering how the _fuck_ John became friends with somebody so pretty. He was like, lord of the nerds, and yet here he was, casually introducing you to this bombshell like it was no big thing. Maybe personality _did_ have something to do with popularity? Maybe all the cliché movie stereotypes are wrong.

Hahah, yeah right. Obviously only jocks can be popular, and nerds like Egbert don’t stand a chance. You know, for being twenty-four, you really do have a teenaged mentality sometimes.

“So John tells me you’re out for rumors? You wanna know the nitty-gritty of the school?” She asks, adjusting her glasses. They were strange glasses, oddly tinted and cat-eye shaped. You nod in reply to her question. “Then you need to get some of these tight-asses a little bit loose lipped.” She smirks. You give her a confused look and she understands that you do not understand. “A party, Lalonde!” She claps a hand over your shoulder. “For somebody who looks so cool, you really don’t act it. If you wanna get teenagers talking, you’ve got to give them something they want.”

“And what do they want?” You quirk an eyebrow at her.

“A little bit of freedom,” She shrugs. “A little bit of self-expression, and usually a whole lot of booze.” She pats your cheek and grins again. “You’re a cute one.” With that she turns on her heel and walks out of the library.

As soon as she’s gone you plop down next to John, “You can’t be serious.” He hums in a questioning tone, like he doesn’t know what you’re talking about. “John we can’t throw a party for a bunch of teenagers and we _can’t_ supply alcohol to minors.”

“Technically,” He looks up from his book. “We wouldn’t be _supplying_ it if it just so happens to be lying around and they take it themselves.” You scan his face for any kind of hint that he’s kidding. You find none. He returns to his book.

“You’re a devious little fucker, ain’t you Egbert?” You sit back on the sofa the two of you are seated on, locking your fingers together behind your head. You see the beginnings of a smirk tug at the corners of John’s mouth. “Alright, I guess we’re throwing a party. At your house.”

                                                                  **\------------**

Getting John’s dad out of the house was easy enough, seeing as you and John were full time paid police officers, you weren’t short on cash. All you had to do was buy him a ticket to a theatre show a few towns over. He happily accepted. Getting alcohol also wasn’t hard, you’re both over 21 – John made you buy it though, seeing as it’d be hard to explain the braces. And once you’d decided to have the party, getting the word out was also pretty damn simple, seeing as John had somehow managed to make a few connections in the right places. All you’d managed to do was befriend a few guys in the AV club.

Back in your _real_ high school days, you were no stranger to parties, you’ll admit. You’d learned the hard way to handle your alcohol and hold your head up even when you couldn’t feel your feet below you; skills that would surely come in handy tonight while playing drunken teenager. (Really you’ll probably just be a drunken twenty-four year old.) John said go easy on the drinking, but come on, he bought the booze, how could you resist free liquor?

The party was underway, John trying to keep people from fucking up his dad’s house (you think), you in a slightly buzzed stupor, looking for information. “An’ you say he ain’t mentioned her since?” You lean lazily against the wall, talking to a girl with long curly blonde hair.

“Mhm, it’s like one day he just stopped having a wife.” She slurs, a bit drunk you think.

“That _is_ weird, isn’t it?” She nods in agreement and you push yourself up off the wall. “I’ll see you ‘round.. V… Vr… Veronica?”

She frowns and puts her hands on her hips. “Vriska.”

“Right, right. See you then.” You nod and saunter away. Where the fuck is John now? You hadn’t seen him since this party started. You find your way into the kitchen and ask around, learn a little bit more about the mysteriously disappearing wife in the process.

After another thirty minutes of looking, you notice the unruly black tufts of hair going round the corner to an upstairs bedroom. “John!” You call after, and push your way up the stairs. “John, hold up!” You turn the corner to the room and nearly plow John into the floor.

“Holy crap, Dave, where’s the fire?” He wobbles a bit, sloshing liquid out of a red plastic cup in his hand.

You smirk, “Oh and you told _me_ to mind my liquor.” You nod towards the cup.

He grins and leans forward, only inches from your face. “It’s my house.” You two could probably be described as literally the worst cops ever.

“A little close for comfort there, ain’t you Eggy?” You lean in as well.

He laughs and throws his head back a bit before resuming his position. “Really Dave, too close?” He leans closer still. “We kissed in a janitor’s closet, there’s no such thing as too close.” A devious grin plays on his lips. “Speaking of,” He brings his index finger to your chest and pokes you. “I’d like to do it again.” He slurs his words a bit and it’s obvious he’s drunk. You’d probably be shocked and taken back by his request, but since you’re drunk too you don’t think too much on it. The finger that poked you soon becomes a fist, the front of your shirt bunched up in it, and John’s lips pressed firmly against yours.

When you started this assignment you certainly didn’t expect to end up here. You’re supposed to be figuring out what happened to Principal English’s wife, why she went missing and what illegal things are being rumored to go on at the school. You had a lot of stuff you _needed_ to do, but right now you didn’t care. Right now you were kissing your goofy as fuck partner and nothing mattered at all.

                                                                  **\------------**

Wouldn’t it be great if the story ended there? If you got to kiss John and then forget about the task at hand? That’d be the shit. Too fuckin’ bad this is real life and you’re pretty sure you’ve got a murder on your hands. Principal English’s wife went missing just over two months ago, not hide nor hair of her had been seen since.

Admittedly, after you and John kissed, things got pretty awkward. This wasn’t some fairy tale where you realized you were head over heels for each other, it was real life and you guys were drunk. The awkwardness between the two of you made the investigation go much much slower than it was already going, but you’d progressed pretty far despite that.

Right now, you’re voicing your suspicions to your Bro. He remembers when English’s wife was reported missing, everyone suspected foul play but nobody could prove it. You thought you could. See, the thing about teenagers is, they know more than people think they know. They pay attention when adults do things that adults don’t normally do.

For example, the math teacher sneaking around with the principal. Apparently, this was normal. It’d been going on for _months_ before English’s wife died – er vanished. Suspicious. Students reported hearing Paint and English talking about starting over after the school year ended, somewhere they couldn’t be followed.

“But we need proof, Dave.” Your brother breathed out through his nose, he was frustrated at the situation, and you had everything you needed to accuse him of murder _except_ physical proof. “Do you think you could get a confession?”

“How the FUCK am I supposed to do that, bro?”

“I don’t know, heat him up. Get him angry, people always say stuff they don’t mean to say when they’re pissed.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose and groan. “Alright, I’ll try.”

“Good.” He nods and returns to his paperwork.

You stand up and grab your jacket off the back of your chair, how in the fuck are you supposed to get your principal to confess to murder? This job is so beyond fucked up. John’s waiting for you outside of your brother’s office. You give him a nod as you pass and he hops up and walks behind you.

“Well?” He asks.

“We need to get proof.” You grumble. He doesn’t say anything because he doesn’t know how to get proof either. This fucking sucks.

The two of you silently tread to John’s car and sit in it for a while. You just sit there in total silence, trying to figure out how to get proof. After probably an eternity John turns to you and opens his mouth, he quickly shuts it though. Moments later he repeats the gesture. He does it again a few minutes after that.

“Jesus, John, just spit it out.”

“I don’t know, it’s stupid.” You raise an eyebrow. “Okay, so how do you make somebody talk?”

“I don’t know, how?”

“You get them emotional, English’s main emotion seems to be anger, right?”

“Oh Jesus, John, Bro said the same thing.” You groan.

“What?”

“Get him angry to get him talking.”

“Exactly!” He snaps his fingers. “And what makes him angrier than the two of us playing tonsil hockey in places we shouldn’t be?” His lips form a grin and you immediately regret asking him what his idea was. You swear, if you have to kiss this boy one more time you might ACTUALLY fall for him.

“You better fucking brush your teeth first.” You grimace and buckle your seatbelt; John takes it as a sign to finally start the car. Looks like you’ve got a plan, even if it is a shitty one.

And it is a shitty one.

Oh, so so so shitty.

But you can’t get enough of it. You start to _crave_ John’s lips on yours. You start to initiate unplanned make out sessions “purely for the mission” but really more for your own sick satisfaction. Every time English catches you, his blood boils with rage, and it just makes you want to do it more. You become desperate for John’s touch and it fills you with excitement knowing you’re going to be caught, if you were good with psychoanalyzing situations – which you aren’t – you’d probably realize you’ve got the beginnings of an exhibitionism kink going on here.

The worst part?

John didn’t seem to mind.

_At all._

In fact, he was almost encouraging it. So either John has the major hots for you or he also as a pretty hefty exhibitionism kink. Or both. Both could be cool.

No. _No no no._ Focus on the mission here, dude. School is going to be out in less than two weeks, you need to get your shit together, stop focusing on John and start focusing on the task at hand. What even is the task?

Oh fuck.

Uh… you’re supposed to… do… fuck, John is laying it on thick right now, right in the middle of the student commons, and you can’t process thoughts other than “I wonder how far we can get our tongues down each other’s throats.” You’ve got him seated nicely in your lap; he’s knees on either side of your thighs, and your hands around his waist. He’s got his arms placed loosely over your shoulders and his hands tugging at the back of your hair.

God _damn_ you liked making out with him, even with the braces he is probably the best kisser you’ve ever kissed. (You couldn’t wait to kiss him without them, not that you’d ever get the chance.) And he knows it. He knows he kisses well and he knows what he’s doing and shit it just makes you want to forget everything because you’re so caught up in the moment every time your lips connect.

Unfortunately, you’ve just been pulled from the moment.

“LALONDE AND CROCKER.” A thunderous roar of a voice comes from the far side of the common area. “IN MY OFFICE IMMEDIATELY.”

Oh yeaaaaah, that’s why you originally started making out with John in public. You needed to piss off the principal. Looks like you finally succeeded. (It _only_ took two weeks and about 60 public displays of affection. Not that you were complaining.)

John walks ahead of you to the office, but you go in together once the secretary gives you the all clear. You stride in, coolly as you like, and swing your legs over the side of one of the chairs in front of the desk. “Sup.” You nod your head. John sits beside you in a much less charismatic fashion.

English grits his teeth and runs his fingernails across the top of his desk. “I’m about one minute from expelling the _both_ of you. I have told you time and again PDA is not _allowed in my school_.” He speaks low and menacing; it makes you feel a bit uneasy.

“Gonna get rid of us like you did your wife, huh?” You say, not exactly thinking about what you’re saying. That sharp tongue of yours is going to be what gets you killed someday.

The principal’s eyes go wide and he leans across the desk, getting as close to you as he can. “ _What_ do you know about my wife?” He snarls.

“Oh plenty,” You put up your hand in a casual sort of know-it-all gesture. “Like I know you got married in 1998, you didn’t have children, she cheated on you multiple times, you took out a life insurance policy on her only months before he disappearance, and don’t even get me started on you running around with Ms. Paint planning to start a new life or whatever.”

John is staring at you, wide-eyed and terrified. You glance at him from the corner of your eye and he mouths the words “what are you doing?!”

“Winging it, Egbabe.” You wink.

English slams his hand on the desk and practically flies across it, pointing a large index finger right in the middle of your face. You cross your eyes in a goofy fashion to look at it. “You don’t know shit about my wife, nosey little _brat.”_ He spits on the last word and you coolly wipe it from your face. “She was a cheating, lying, unfaithful vixen and I put an end to her, so what?” His finger falls from your face to your chest, where he gives you quite a hard poke. “You might wind up facing the same end if you don’t keep your prying little nose out of places where it don’t belong.”

You inhale through your nose and look at John from the corner of your eye. He nods. You nod. He pulls a small tape recorder from his pocket and hits the replay button. Principal English’s words playback for him to hear. He stiffens, slowly turning his head towards John. This momentary distraction is enough for you to pull out your concealed gun and point it at English. As soon as you have it in position, John stops the recording.

“Callium L. English, you are under arrest for the murder of Condessa B. English. You have the right to remain silent when questioned. Anything you say can and _will_ be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you, before any questioning, at your request. You can decide at any given time to exercise these rights and not answer any questions or make any statements. Knowing and understanding these rights, as I have read them to you, are you willing to answer any questions without an attorney present?”

He grunts and spits on the floor, “Fuckin’ cops in _my_ school.”

“Did you murder your wife?” You ask.

“She got what she deserved.” He hisses. You nod at John, who approaches with the handcuffs. If this wasn’t such a dire situation, you might be tempted to make a joke about it being kinky. John hands you the handcuffs and you direct English to put his hands behind his back, he isn’t so quick to comply. Instead, he spins around and quickly grabs the gun from your grasp. He’s holding it by the barrel, so you’re out of immediate danger, but before either of you can react he spins again and bashes the butt into the side of John’s head. John stumbles backwards, grabbing his head and trying to grab something for balance.

“Shit,” You freeze. The gun is on you now. Oh, how the tables turn.

“Hold your tongue in my school, _boy_.” He pulls back the latch with his thumb and hovers his finger over the trigger. Well this sucks; you never thought you’d die in a school.

“Drop it!” John cries from behind English. “Drop your weapon.” His voice is shaky, he’s never held anyone at gunpoint before, you think.

English gets a sickening smirk before putting his hands in the air, gun pointed straight up. He turns from you, back to John and laughs. John’s hands are visibly shaking but he stands firm.

“I said,” He begins. “Drop the weapon.”

Your former fake-principal has other plans, apparently, because again he’s whirled himself around and pulled the gun on you once more. His finger is moments from pulling the trigger and there is nothing you can do to evade the inevitable shot. You squeeze your eyes shut and pray to every God you’ve ever heard of that he’s a terrible aim. (Even only inches from your face.)

_BAM!_

_BAM! BAM!_

Pain surges through you, searing hot fucking pain. But you aren’t dead. You fall to your knees and absentmindedly bring your left hand up to your right shoulder. Your vision is blurry from the pain, but you can clearly see the dead slump of a man in front of you, and the shaken outline of John Egbert behind him, panting heavily.

“Holy shit, Egbert.” You breath out, probably sounding a lot less suave out your mouth than you do in your head.

John starts across the room, kicking the gun away from English’s hand in the process. He’s obviously dead, but you can never be too cautious. Your ears are ringing but you can hear John repeating your name over and over, he’s got his hand on your uninjured shoulder. “Dave?! Dave? Can you hear me?” You could but your body was probably going into shock, because you felt sort of numb, the pain stopped and you kind of just admired John’s face in front of yours.

Just as soon as John was there though, he’s  gone, you could barely make out the faint sounds of a panicked 911 call.

Minutes? Hours? Some amount of time later? You wake up in kind of a groggy haze in a hospital room, John is beside you, holding your hand and zonked out halfway on the bed. You give him a small nudge and he jolts awake. “Dave?!”

“Hey Egbutt,” You grin. Feeling a little too good because of the pain meds, aren’t you?

“Jesus, Dave, you got shot!”

You vision drifts from John’s face to the barely noticeable pain in your right shoulder. “So that explains it.” You smirk.

John shakes his head and sits up straight, pulling you into a weird sort of awkward hug. “I don’t know how the fuck you can joke at a time like this but I’m glad you’re alright.”

“Wait, so we got him?” You ask, a little confused. “What happened?”

“He was going to shoot you, I shot him first. The last thing he did was pull the trigger as he was collapsing and…” He pulls a face and gestures to your shoulder.

You ignored most of what he just said, “Wait, you _shot_ somebody? You? Egbert the intelligent? No violence needed Egbert?” You’ve got a devilishly wide grin on your face and John is staring in disbelief.

“You almost _died,_ you idiot, and you’re worried about me having shot somebody?”

“I obviously need to get my priorities straight.” You shrug, wincing at the slight surge in pain it causes in your shoulder. “The rest of me? Not so much.”

John scrunches up his face and raises an eyebrow, obviously confused by your statement. “What?”

Ugh, way to ruin a cool moment, John, now you’ve got to explain the joke to him. “Like, my priorities need to be straightened out but I don’t.” He still shoots you an oblivious look. You roll your eyes and use your good hand to pull him forward, crashing your lips together. This should help explain it.

After a few seconds John breaks the contact and leans back, “Ohhhhh.” You grin and pull him into another kiss, this one lasting significantly longer.

Remember when you said there were no fairy tale endings?

Yeah, _fuck that_.

You could get used to this.


End file.
